


deep roots

by hulklinging



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bugs & Insects, F/F, F/M, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Rebellion, Spies & Secret Agents, magical torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulklinging/pseuds/hulklinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam never expected to give his soul to the old faith, to join a rebellion against a corrupted king, to find friends like this. </p><p>He did not expect to be captured either, but he cannot really be surprised that his life will end with failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Capture

**Author's Note:**

> Because every fandom needs a classic fantasy AU, apparently.

Adam's hands are tied painfully tight behind his back, so when his captors push him down, he has no way to catch himself. He hits the floor, the wind knocked out of him, his barely healed ribs aching. He knows he should get up quick, knows showing weakness means he's as good as dead, but his body is refusing to respond. He struggles, makes it to his knees before a boot catches him between his shoulders, and he's forced down again. This is it. This is how he'll die, with a boot on his back and a bag over his head. This is what he gets, trying to rise above his station. This is what he gets for reaching for something more.

"So. This is the traitor's pet mage. He doesn't look like much."

The bag is yanked off his head, and he blinks back tears at the sudden light. He feels off balance, more so than usual, and it takes him a good few seconds to locate the speaker.

Sir Joseph of Kavinsky, knight of the realm of Aglionby, smirks down at him. He's dressed casually, but even his plain tunic and breeches are made of finer fabric than Adam could ever hope to afford. Of all the people to capture him, it had to be the king's own Dreamwalker. Ronan will be furious, when news of Adam's death reaches them. He will take it as a personal attack.

Adam eyes Kavinsky, and realizes that is precisely what this is.

He doesn't say anything in response to the knight. He won't give him the satisfaction. But Kavinsky doesn't seem bothered.

"Skov, get him up."

The man behind him lifts Adam by his collar as if he weighs nothing. Adam scrambles to get his feet under him, not taking his eyes off of Kavinsky. If today is the day he is to die, then he'd like to do it standing. He can fight for that much.

Sir Joseph circles him, and the hand on the back of his neck keeps him from turning. He hates when the man is behind him, his gaze on him like a weighted thing. His skin crawls, and he half expects to feel the sudden touch of cold steel.

"I find it hard to believe you are the best mage the rebels can muster," his tone is teasing, but there's a cruel set to the knight's eyes. Sir Joseph of Kavinsky's reputation is hardly one that can be avoided. He trained as a page and squire in the same year as Ronan and Richard, and he was cruel even then. Now, with his own group of knights under his command, a company of foot soldiers, and control of the Dreaming, he is an earth-bound demon, leaving the dead and the broken in his wake wherever he rides. He is the perfect example of what Sir Richard wants to change about this country, a noble who sees himself as a god, and doles out death accordingly.

Sir Ronan's hatred of him is much more personal.

Adam knows it has something to do with an incident when they were squires, one that left Roman's younger brother maimed and publically outed both Ronan and Kavinsky as Dreamwalkers, or 'Greywarens', in the old religion's texts.

"Ronan does like his pets, though." He reaches out, brushes a gloved hand down Adam's cheek. His fingers linger on the bruise on his jaw, a gift from the knight who succeeded in capturing him. He presses down on it, and Adam gasps before he can stop himself, which gets a laugh from Kavinsky as he steps away again. He reaches over, and one of the men hands him his sword. He takes it, and his shoulders straighten. When he turns back around to face Adam, any humor is gone.

Adam can hear his heart racing.

"Adam Parrish, as a rebel conspiring against His Majesty Colin the Greenmantle of the house of Glendower, your fate is death. As a knight of the realm, I hereby sentence you to a traitor's death, and since my fine steel is not to be dulled on a commoner's neck, you will meet your end at the gallows. Notice will be sent out, so that the public can gather and see what happens when peasants try to pretend they have worth."

He locks his knees, so he will not shake. He will stand strong, he will not cower in the face of death. He closes his eyes, and casts his mind out wide, searching for Cabeswater. For he is as much priest as mage, really, and Cabeswater had taken his soul when he offered it, blessed him with power and protection. He is not sure if that protection extends to death, but he would like to attempt to call on it now, all the same.

Nothing. There must be counter-spells woven into the tent walls, and the ties on his wrists as well. The priests and mages of the old faith were too well known for being good with their hands for anyone to overlook that.

A sharp pain brings his mind back to his body all at once. He opens his eyes and his vision spins, and only his locked knees keep him up. Kavinsky must have hit him. His cheek burns.

Kavinsky is shaking his head. "None of that sacrilegious nonsense in front of me, witch." He sighs, and goes back to the chair at the head of his tent, slumping into it like he is suddenly bored with the whole situation. "I don't suppose you know anything about your false king's plans?"

He knows almost everything, actually. Knows the whole shape of the rebellion, roots so much deeper than the King or Kavinsky knows. He knows about the attack on the coastal town of St. Mark, which should be posed to begin. He knows about the weapons being made in the roots of Giant's Grave. He knows where Cabeswater sleeps, and the home of the Sisterhood of the Fox.

Adam Parrish is knowing and unknowable.

But aloud he says "I'm just a mage."

Kavinsky laughs, and the laugh is picked up by his men, until Adam feels like he is surrounded by one of Ronan's unkindnesses, harsh cackling of the ravens indistinguishable to all but the Greywaren.

"Parrish, do you know why Ronan of Lynch never lies?"

Kavinsky's gaze is hungry, when he speaks Ronan's name, and Adam wants to look away but he's caught in that stare. He doesn't know why Ronan refuses even the smallest of untruths. Ronan will walk away, refuse to answer, but nothing untrue will pass his lips.

When Adam offers no answer, Kavinsky continues. "It's because one of my talents is seeing lies." Adam's heart goes cold. "I suppose I left a lasting impression with Sir Ronan." He looks over Adam's head at the guard still holding him. "Throw him in a cell overnight. Let's see if he'll tell us what he knows tomorrow."

Horror is spreading through Adam's blood. One of the first protections he laid on himself was for lies. His lies should ring true in any mortal's ears. He knows too much to go unprotected, and the suicide spells that are usually the protection of choice in case of capture and interrogation are a type of magic that Cabeswater cannot stand. Any such spell Adam tried to lay on himself Cabeswater burned from his body. So he gave himself the protection of lies instead.

And Kavinsky had seen right through it.

He sits in his cell, numb hands still tied behind his back, and prays to the forest where he was reborn. He slips into a trance, but does not let himself sleep. Here, in this company, sleep is the most dangerous place of all.

It's not Kavinsky who comes for him as dawn breaks, but two of his knights. Skov and Prokopenko drag him from his cell and march him through camp. He's weak from lack of water, food, and it's terrifying to see the sheer numbers their enemy has at his disposal. He's just starting to think that maybe that's all this morning walk is, intimidation. Then they take a sharp turn, and he's pushed into a large tent.

Immediately, he starts to shake. The tent is filled with things not often dragged out into the field, usually left to forgotten dungeons in the castles of history's worst kings. He knew logically that such rooms existed, but it was in the same way that he knew the ocean existed- it never felt tangible.

Surrounded by the various torture instruments, both physical and magical alike, stands Kavinsky. He's lounging against a table covered in dried blood, looking far too relaxed for this setting. Adam is focusing on his breathing, trying not to send himself into a panic. Taking it one heartbeat at a time.

"A messenger arrived at first light, with a letter from your band of traitors." Kavinsky doesn't bother looking at him. "They're asking for a ransom demand, for your safety. As if they are worth the rules of war." He pulls out what must be the letter, and a strange piece of metal. With a flick of his wrist, there are flames, greedily devouring the request. "As if you are worth anything at all."

Adam frowns, because they agreed they wouldn't do that. They didn't want to give the king's troops any kind of power over them, and they knew they were unlikely to get anyone back alive from this dishonorable king anyways.

He's been gone two days, and they're already trying to break the rules. For him.

He feels sick.

"Do you feel like telling the truth, Parrish?" He stretches, and pushes himself off from the table. He is once again in the finest of fabrics, all whites and creams today. Strange choice, when torture is in your day's work.

"A little bird told me you're no stranger to pain," Kavinsky says, and under his sharp gaze Adam understands how a rabbit must feel, trapped in the sights of a hawk. If only he could make his heart stop, like a rabbit. A quick death now would serve both him and his friends well.

No such luck.

Adam doesn't know how Kavinsky could have possibly found out about his past, if his upbringing is what he is referencing. Yes, in the Parrish household, pain was an expected thing. Even after he'd gotten out of there, put his father behind him, pain had dogged his footsteps. His special kind of power does not come easily.

He is familiar with pain, yes. But if anything it makes him hate it more.

"Put him here," Kavinsky points at a simple chair, and Adam hopes in spite of himself that perhaps he can somehow avoid the sharp instruments around him. But as soon as he is forced onto the chair, he knows something is wrong.

"It's very exciting to have someone of the old faith to play with." Kavinsky is so casual, almost bored, as the chair takes offense at Adam's very presence. "This chair is apparently made from a tree of Cabeswater." The word is dirtied in his mouth, and Adam wants to curse him, bring a wrath as old as the world down on this pathetic creature, but he knows if he opens his mouth, he will scream. The wood is of Cabeswater yes but it is infected, as if with magical dry rot. It burns him, through his thin clothes. It makes him shake, and Kavinsky watches him and looks less and less bored. "I've never gotten to use it before. It does seem to work, doesn't it?"

He was wrong. He is not burning, he is being stung, as if from a thousand insects, and they've moved from his skin to inside him. He sends out a quick blessing to the living trees of his holy land, because he can feel the evil that has taken up residence in this chair searching, searching for his soul, and the are coming up empty.

 _You cannot have it_ , he tells it. _It is far beyond your reach._

The evil takes offense to this, angry at being denied its prize. His skin crawls, there are things inside him, and they hate him. His jaw opens of its own accord, and a host of hornets fly out of him, using his body as a gateway to the physical plane.

Adam screams.


	2. A Conversation

"Anything?"

"Nothing yet, Lynch," Gansey replies, not for the first time. "And since you can hear as well as I, I'm sure as soon as our messenger returns, you will know."

Sir Richard the Third, of the house of Gansey, rebel king and if the rumours are true, rightful heir of the broken line of Glendower, is a patient man. But one of his closest friends is in the hands of their enemy, caught while on a mission he himself had sent the mage on, and their necromancer has chosen now as the best time to disappear, and he has had enough of Ronan of Lynch's angry pacing in what is supposed to be his private tent. He needs space to think, to plan, to somehow rescue Adam from an impossible position, and Ronan is not helping.

"How did this happen, Gansey?" Ronan's voice, deadly as any weapon, is almost loud enough to disguise the panic in it. "He never should have been on that mission! And you know it!"

"I can't keep him cooped up like... like some invalid, Ronan! He wants to be involved, and that transport needed the proper protection to keep it stable! He agreed to go!"

Ronan's laugh is like a punch. "Like he'd say no to you."

Gansey doesn't understand what Ronan's even trying to get at, anymore. "He says no all the time? Ronan, I'm as worried about him as you are, but I need to make some decisions, if they realize who they have," Ronan snarls. "If they refuse the offer, we need to be prepared. We need to have a plan. So please, either calm yourself, or get out."

The tent flap opens, and Blue sticks her head in. "You're making the men nervous," she tells them, her tone sharp. "If you're going to fight, have the sense to not do it in front of them. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

There are very few people that can speak like that to Ronan and live. Blue, youngest current member of the Sisterhood of the Fox, possible illegitimate child of the late high priest of the old faith, is one of them. He shoots her a glare, and storms past her and out of the tent.

"I'm going to look for Czerny," he growls, and is gone.

Blue scowls at Gansey. "That goes for you double. People are used to Lynch. When you start to yell, they get scared."

Gansey doesn't bother to chide her on her informal manner with him. Technically, as a member of the Sisterhood, even one with no Sight, she is above their mortal titles. "I am scared," he admits to her, staring at his hands, wishing for a blessing in the form of a brilliant plan. Nothing comes, of course. That is not how their gods work. "Adam Parrish is not only one of my closest friends and advisors, he is of vital importance to this movement. He is also the reason why believers of the old faith are among our strongest supporters. We can't afford-" His voice breaks, and he trails off.

Blue steps fully into the tent, and lets the flap close behind her. She shouldn't be in a man's tent without a chaperone, but even disregarding the fact that she carries the curse of Gwenllian, his men know and respect her too much to doubt her virtue.

As if one can just disregard Gwenllian's Blessing.

"Gansey," she says, soft but firm. "People follow you for many different reasons. One of those reasons might be Adam Parrish, but even if-" her own voice falters. All of those in his most inner circle care for each other very much. They'd become a family, and although death always dogged their steps, they'd never have thought Adam might be the first of them to die. Adam Parrish of nowhere, Adam Parrish of Cabeswater, whose soul had left his body and still he walked the earth, his heart still beating. He cannot die. And yet.

Blue has to compose herself before she can finish her sentence. "Even if something were to happen to Adam, the people would still support you. You are the king of the people. The rightful king."

"We don't know that for sure." Gansey doesn't often doubt, but today all of his darkest fears are at the forefront of his mind. "We are no closer to finding him."

"We will," says Blue, and it sounds like an oath.

Gansey smiles shakily at her. "Thank you, Blue. I-"

He is interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats, and a shout that the men quickly take up. One of their foot soldiers bursts into the tent, a commoner of the old faith who had travelled from the furthest reaches of the nation to join them. In his excitement, he forgets his recent training about appropriate ways to address a commander.

"Sir Noah has returned!" he announces. "He brings news of _Manibus_!"

 _Manibus_ is what the most devout call Adam. Gansey stands.

"Thank you." He follows the soldier out, Blue right behind him.

Outside, a crowd has swarmed Sir Noah, who looks tired and not at all triumphant, as he dismounts from his horse.

"I didn't send him," Gansey mutters to Blue, and she can feel the tension rolling off of him, the concern in his words. Then he straightens, and he is their promised king once again. "Sir Noah! Do you bring us news?"

Noah looks pale, paler even than usual. He gives a subtle shake of his head, and Ronan must have seen it too, because he's right there, grabbing Noah's arm. Those who crowd Noah immediately part for their Greywaren. The two men make it over to Blue and Gansey, and Gansey motions to his tent.

"Shall we?"

The four of them retreat back into Gansey's tent, and the inside feels cavernous, because usually they four are five, the five young conspirators turned rebels. The three others try to give Noah a moment, but Blue isn't known for her patience.

"What happened, Noah?"

Gansey is frowning. "I thought I sent Sir Henry..."

"Did you see him?" Ronan is a bow string, ready to fire, and Noah sees this like he sees everything, and answers Ronan first.

"Briefly." There's a pain in his eyes. Noah, more than any of them, is kind. While the rest of them found their own way here, Noah was dragged here, quite literally. It is not his friends' fault, and he loves them too much to begrudge them things beyond their control, but it is hard, sometimes. "I just caught a glimpse of him, Ronan. Where he was, there were wards, so no amount of sneaking would have helped. He is alive." There's a collective release of tension, as they all remember to breathe again. Alive means he's not beyond hope. Alive means there's a chance.

Blue knows Noah best, though. She can see that hesitation. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Noah nods. "It's Kavinsky. Kavinsky's troops are the ones holding the pass. Kavinsky is the one who has Adam."

Gansey swears, which is so out of character for him that Blue echoes the word in surprise. Ronan goes a step further. Hands balled into fists, he aims a kick at one of the closest trunks. There's a loud 'crack!' Noah hopes it was the trunk.

"I'm going to guess he turned down our request, then." Gansey sits down, looking older than his twenty years. "Did he say anything?"

Noah shrugs, not looking away from Ronan, who can't seem to stop moving, pacing the width of the tent like some caged beast. "He thought I was just a regular messenger. If he knew who I was," _What I was,_ is what he doesn't say but what they all hear. "I doubt he would have let me leave so easily. He said..." Noah blinks in and out of sight, like he does when he is most upset. "He said Ronan would get him back when he's done with him."

Silence. No one wants to look at Ronan. The statement is enough to shock him into stillness.

Gansey must know what he's going to do at the same time as Ronan does, because when Ronan goes to leave, Gansey already has a hand on his arm to hold him there.

"Ronan." He's still using that voice he keeps for his friends, not yet resorting to that commanding tone that even Ronan cannot disobey. "You can't just rush off to him. It's exactly what Kavinsky wants-"

"Last time," Ronan's gaze is dark, there is a storm brewing and Ronan Lynch is the eye of it. "Last time I rushed off and I still wasn't fast enough. So tell me, Gansey, what do you think will happen this time?"

Blue and Noah watch the two men in silence, knowing the conversation has gone beyond them, back in the boys' history to a place they don't have the right to follow. Noah tries to stay present, even though he knows his strength is waning. Blue's hand finds his elbow, grounding him, and he smiles gratefully at her. She didn't take her eyes off of Gansey and Ronan, but still knew that he needed her. Blue is a blessing, their binding. Noah loves her with all of his unbeating heart.

"This isn't last time." Gansey sounds more sure than he feels. "This isn't Matthew. This is Adam, who's more capable of defending himself than any of us. And we will help him. But we can't be hasty. There is too much at stake to throw our lives away trying to save him without a plan." It's a good argument, a logical one, and Gansey isn't quite done. "Also, if you get us killed by acting too rashly, Adam will hate you."

Ronan recoils like Gansey hit him. Even Blue is shocked. That was harsh, especially coming from Gansey. But it was what Ronan needed to hear, it seems, because he shakes Gansey's arm off, and gives him a curt nod.

"Understood?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

Ronan exits his king's tent dramatically for the second time that day. There's hurt on Gansey's face, and Noah is gone. He doesn't like it when they fight. Blue opens her mouth, but Gansey waves a hand at her.

"Can I get the lecture later, Blue? I would like to be alone."

This gets her hackles up. She wasn't going to give him a lecture, she was going to tell him he did good. But if he doesn't want to hear that, then fine. She turns on her heel and leaves Gansey to his own thoughts.

Ronan hasn't gone far. He's a few feet into the forest, Morning Glory on his arm. He rants at his raven while she preens and adds in the occasional caw of agreement.

"Haven't needed a nursemaid in a long time, Sargent."

She doesn't question how he knew she had followed him. "Could have surprised me, Lynch." She sits down on a fallen log, and watches two squirrels chase each other up the trunk of a tree. "Are you going to run off, then?"

Ronan's shrugs always make him look extra birdlike, more a lifting of his shoulder blades than his shoulders. "Maybe. I'm considering it."

"If you don't come back, Gansey won't take it well."

Ronan responds with his father's tongue, a language that makes even the kindest pleasantries sound like a threat, and Blue is willing to bet that whatever he said was not a sweet nothing.

"He needs you here."

"We need Parrish here!"

Finally he turns to look at her. Morning Glory doesn't like his sudden movement, taking wing and heading towards a perch that is a little less angry. If Blue didn't know better, she would think Ronan might have been near tears.

She stares him down, but although she is good at staring contests, he is better. She is the one to first look away, but she throws in a comment to even the field.

"You're acting like a child. I don't know what this Kavinsky is like, but I can't imagine this is the frame of mind you want to be in when dealing with him."

Ronan is silent for a long time, long enough that Blue thinks he might intend to ignore her until she leaves. But just as she stands, he speaks up.

"When we were all training together, he crippled my brother. He thinks he knows people better than they know themselves, and he is cruel. Crueler than our mockery of a king." These are more words than Ronan usually strings together at one time, and Blue is as surprised by that as she is by him volunteering information. She has heard stories of their childhood in the palace, and of the early days of the rebellion, before she found them, but it has all been from Gansey and Adam. Ronan has never been one for reminiscing.

"Adam knows cruel." It's the sad truth. "And he's strong." Stronger than he was when they met, when he looked like he was never quite present. Who knew that taking a soul out of its shell could make the shell strengthen.

"Not like this." Ronan sounds sure. "And I know Kavinsky. This is not about Parrish, or even Gansey. This is about me. So whether I go now or later, with Gansey's blessing, I will have to go."

Blue can't ever recall seeing Ronan scared, so she's not sure what that would look like, but if she has to guess, she would guess it looked something like the boy in front of her right now.

"Just don't go alone." The wind picks up around them, and she can almost hear words in the movement of the trees around them. Ronan cocks his head, like he can understand what they're saying, and maybe he can. As the Greywaren, he is closer to Cabeswater than her. He walks there in the dreaming, whereas she only catches glimpse in mirrors and the rain.

"What are they saying?" She asks, and he shushes her, not unkindly.

"They're saying... _Manibus_ will come." The open expression on his face as he listens to the trees suddenly clouds, and once again Ronan of Lynch shuts the rest of the world out. "And that he will bring death."

The whispering of the trees doesn't sound gentle, anymore. It sounds dangerous.

"What do they mean by that?"

Ronan doesn't answer. Above them, Morning Glory _kerah_ s, and the wind vanishes.

Blue is a practical girl. But she is also of the Sisterhood, and she knows the signs of an otherworldly presence. She makes the sign against evil across her chest, and returns to camp. Only once she is out of the forest does she look back. Ronan and his raven are gone, like they'd never been there at all.


	3. Interlude: A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere between here and there, Adam has a nightmare.

Adam comes back to himself in complete darkness. It's not an awakening, more like he is reentering his body, which has been sitting vacant waiting for him to return. He doesn't know where he's coming back from, only that it must have been very far away.

Around him there is only darkness, a great empty space that seems to swallow him. He reaches for Cabeswater, but where the forest's presence usually is, there is nothing. 

He thinks he hears a buzzing.

It's just his nerves. There's nothing living here, just him.

But he hears them. Coming closer.

He never was afraid of bees or wasps. In his small town they were a staple of their warmer months. Adam worked what odd jobs he could, instinctively brushing away any insect that came too close. Once he got stung, watched the bee struggle and die as his hand swelled. After he pulled out the stinger, it was just like any other bruise on his body. The bee had died for nothing.

Now there is Gansey.

Gansey his king, so strong and bright. This nation's hope, royalty of old, whose bloodline, if they're right, dates back to Glendower and beyond.

Gansey had told him what it had been like, to die and be greeted by that great ancestor of his. To feel his touch, and see breath return to his body. He spoke in the dark about what it felt like, the creatures crawling across his skin even as it cooled, and when he came back to his skin he had to push them off with fingers too swollen to move. Life had been returned to him in a second, but his body took longer. On cold nights his hands still swell, like the old man left a little of himself in their young leader.

After Gansey shared his story, well. Adam had learned to be afraid of things that buzz.

He doesn't move and the darkness doesn't lighten. But there is something in front of him, and it must have always been here, because there is no time passing. Everything is as it has always been, and Gansey sits before him. He looks like he always does, comfortable and kingly at once, a comrade and a ruler in one. He sits in a throne that is not yet his, but it could be. It's not the cold throne that sits in the palace, but the one from Glendower's reign. One of the things they hope to find soon. It was rumoured to have the power to deny all but the true ruler. Whether or not that is true, it would be a marvellous blow to Greenmantle, to have it in their possession. More importantly, where that throne is hidden surely Glendower rests as well. And finding him means they will have proof of Gansey's lineage, and an almost clear path to the palace.

Is he seeing the future? This is not one of Cabeswater's visions, does not ring with that kind of truth. But Adam can't guess at what this is, if not the future. Against his best instinct, a coil of hope unfurls in his chest.

Immediately, the buzzing is all around him. It's in his head, behind his eyes. His whole body vibrates with it, and when he opens his mouth to cry out, wasps tumble from his lips, more than could ever be contained by his mouth, or even his body. The wasps don't bother with him. Instead, they head straight for Gansey. At first, Gansey doesn't react, and the wasps land on any exposed skin. For a moment, they don't sting him. Adam can't breathe. Maybe they won't do anything. Maybe this is a nightmare, and he'll wake up before he has to watch this.

Gansey suddenly seems to be aware he's not alone. His eyes find Adam's, and Adam watches his face twist into confusion, and then fear.

"Adam?" His voice is quiet, like he's trying to hide his panic. "Adam, what-"

And then all at once, the wasps begin to sting. Gansey's voice is cut off by a cry, and then his throat must swell shut. Adam goes to move towards him, but he's frozen, forced to watch as Gansey's body shakes and then goes terribly still. He's almost unrecognizable, slumped back against his throne. Adam wants to throw up, or cry, but he can't do either. He can't even look away.

 _Interesting,_ says a voice that may or may not be in his head. _Not what I expected._

When the darkness overwhelms him again, he embraces it.


	4. A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan dreams. It doesn't help.

Ronan cannot remember the last time he was this furious.

He burns hot. The house of Lynch is not known for their even tempers. Matthew breaks that mould, maybe, but his brother is a fabricated thing, a boy born of a child's thoughts, everything Ronan wanted to be but wasn't.

Declan, the head of house Lynch now that his father is gone, hides it better than Ronan, perhaps. But he cannot fool Ronan. The temper that he berates Ronan for is in him as well, he just makes it look like pleasant smiles and charisma. The house of Lynch burns, the boys hot to the touch and likely to leave scars.

Ronan wonders if he'll ever meet his brother on the battlefield of this revolution. Last he heard, his brother was still busy enough managing their extensive holdings to opt out of the king's call to arms. He doubts that excuse will last. If his brother waits much longer to come to fight, they'll think he's thrown in his lot with the traitors.

Anyone thinking that has never seen him and Declan together. The hatred is something tangible, someone you can almost see with the naked eye. The Lynch boys are happiest when they're throwing punches at each other, whisper the servants, while Matthew frowns in disappointment at them both.

Ronan hates to disappoint Matthew. So does Declan. That's the only reason they haven't killed each other yet.

Thoughts of Matthew are the only thing holding him back from jumping on a horse and heading straight for Kavinsky's throat. Gansey doesn't know - nobody but Parrish and Declan know - that Matthew is something he made. If he dies, Matthew goes the way of their mother, left to sleep away the days. He will not be responsible for ruining his brother's life further. So he cannot throw his life away.

Knowing this does not make him any less angry. In fact, it makes it worse.

"Ronan."

"Go away," he spits. He's in his tent, trying to make himself sleep out of sheer force of will, but he's burning too hot to manage it. If he can just get to sleep, maybe there's an answer waiting for him in his dreams, in the Cabeswater in his mind. At the very least, he'll feel like he's doing something, instead of just standing here, waiting for news of Parrish's death to arrive. The forest is Parrish's church, after all. Surely there must be something in it that can somehow save him.

Noah doesn't listen to him, of course. He lets the tent flap close behind him, and perches on a tipped over trunk that Ronan had kicked a few minutes before. He watches Ronan with an understanding in his eyes that Ronan can't bare to see. He throws himself onto his bedroll, closing his eyes and trying to pretend that he didn't notice Noah come in at all.

What Ronan really wants to do is to find one of his own churches, find that calm that waits in the pews for him there. But he's tried it before, and no matter how hard he prays he never gets any answers when it comes to matters involving Adam Parrish.

"I know you're not sleeping."

"Yes, because you're still here. Why are you still here?"

Not a lie. Ronan can never sleep under Noah's gaze. For someone with so little physical presence, his eyes weigh heavy on Ronan, even with his own eyes closed he can feel them.

Noah doesn't answer him, not out loud at least. He just sighs, a strange expelling of air from lungs that don't hold any, and shifts on his trunk.

"Don't give up."

Ronan growls. "Do I look like I'm giving up?"

"They said he was bringing death. Not that he was dead."

Ronan doesn't ask how Noah knows what the trees said. Noah knows secrets, that's what he does. He deals in death and secrets, because that's what he is made up of.

"I don't want to talk about this with you."

There's no sound of Noah getting up to leave, but when he doesn't say anything as the minutes pass, Ronan risks opening his eyes. He flinches, much to his own annoyance, because instead of leaving Noah is standing right over him. In this light, his skin is more transparent than usual, the bones of his skull visible if Ronan looks right at him. Ronan is not one to back down, so of course that's what he does, even though he hates it, hates seeing the crushed cheekbone, the betrayal that it spells out.

"He is coming for you," Noah says, voice little more than a whisper. "But he will settle for Gansey, if he has to. Be careful, Ronan."

He fades out of sight completely before Ronan has a chance to respond. "Coward," he spits, but the insult feels too much like a lie on his tongue. He doesn't want to dissect Noah's words, or the trees and their warning. Instead, he closes his eyes again, and finally succeeds in falling away into unconsciousness.

He opens his eyes to a forest he hardly recognizes.

He knows that he only sees a very small part of the sacred forest. Parrish had explained to him that a mortal cannot comprehend Cabeswater in its entirety, that all of the dreaming by people like Ronan and Kavinsky take place in very small pockets of the woods. It was comforting and terrifying all at once, because Ronan has walked for what felt like days and never reached the edge of the woods, and for the woods to be that vast, that was something that felt terrifying somewhere deep inside Ronan, nestled between his bones. Here, he could create and destroy, he could have the world bend to his whim, and this was just a drop in the sea compared to the true expanse of Cabeswater. Cabeswater, and by extension Parrish, who is too mortal to see the whole picture but still not quite human enough to see more than Ronan could ever hope to. The comfort came in knowing that no matter how many nightmares caught up to him here, no matter how much destruction Kavinsky dreamed up, they would never make a true dent in these trees.

The same rule does not apply to Parrish.

The first thing he hears is the buzzing. Unmistakable, because he is always in some way listening for this sound. Bees, whole hosts of them, making the air seem thick. Ronan takes a shaky breath and imagines himself a net, one that is suspended above him, because he cannot risk touching these bees, cannot risk accidentally bringing them back when he wakes up.

He notices that some trees seem to be oozing sap, but as he approaches he realizes it's tears. The trees are crying,

"What is he doing to you, Parrish," he asks, but nothing answers. Aside from the buzzing, the forest is silent. Usually there's rustles in the underbrush, creatures Ronan dreamed up or will dream up one day. Sometimes he was greeted by the strange faun girl who lived here, the one who called herself a priestess and liked to follow him on her little hoofed feet. Sometimes he hears scratching and clicking and knows his nightmares have found him.

But today, there is none of that. Just the buzzing.

He had a half-formed plan as he fell asleep, but that falls away in the face of this, and for a while all he can do is wander, exploring the woods surrounding him, seeing if anything else has changed. He avoids the crying trees, and the bees fly around his net without seeming to be bothered by it. He walks until the trees start to thin out, not naturally but because there are scars in the ground, some starting to heal and fill with flowers again, some new and still nothing but scorched earth. This is a part of the forest he remembers well, where him and Kavinsky explored the extent of what they could do, where they played at being gods until the world around them was exhausted and had nothing else to give them. It's nice to see the forest starting to come back here, but Ronan has little time to dwell on sentiment right now.

He had outgrown the games they played here, had moved on, had stopped pretending to be godly. Kavinsky, for all that he claimed to go to war to protect the new religion, did not believe in it. He didn't believe in the old religion either, even as he drew his dreams into reality from its hallowed halls. Kavinsky believed only in himself, and his fake divinity.

Ronan should have known he was no good much earlier than he did.

Ronan should have known many things.

But there's no point in getting pulled into what ifs and past regrets. Not now, when Parrish was in Kavinsky's power hungry hands. Not here, where wishes and questions have a habit of manifesting in ways he doesn't want.

He doesn't have to walk much further before he comes across a figure. As soon as he sees him, his hands ball into fists. Maybe that's what he came here to find. Maybe that's what he's been hoping for since the moment he fell asleep.

"Kavinsky," he hisses.

The man turns around, and he looks just like Ronan remembers. Self assured, skeletal, dangerous. Sharp edges that used to entrance Ronan. They no longer hold any draw for him, not since he saw those edges cut his brother's legs to pieces.

"Lynch!" Kavinsky calls, and his face splits into a grin. This is not a pleasant grin. This is a devil's grin, this is a grin that will swallow Ronan whole, if he gets too close.

Once upon a time, Ronan met another boy who burned, and for a while they lit fires together. But that was a long time ago, and those fires are all out, and Ronan only lets himself burn, now. Kavinsky still spills power. A wildfire, aching to consume everything in its wake.

"Where's Parrish?"

Kavinsky laughs, and in Cabeswater it sounds like metal clashing, or maybe screaming. "He's safe with me, don't worry. I'm surprised your tether reaches this far. I thought that fake king of yours didn't like letting his bitch out of his sight."

Ronan thinks about Noah's warning and lets the insult slide, makes himself stop a safe distance from Kavinsky, when all he wants to do is rush him, feel his life slip away under his own hands.

While Ronan works to control himself, Kavinsky turns his back on him. A cocky move, as harsh an insult as his verbal one. He's saying he knows he has nothing to fear from Ronan, and Ronan grits his teeth and doesn't rise to the bait.

"He might put in an appearance here, though. He's been flickering in and out of here for the last little while, actually. I told Skov not to let him sleep, but I think I left some of his brains behind, last time I remade him."

Ronan's eyes scour the clearing around Kavinsky, and Kavinsky turns back around just in time to see something on Ronan's face he likes. His smile grows even wider, threatening to cut his face in half.

"Don't let him catch you looking at him like that, Lynch. You look more pathetic than usual. Although I doubt he'll be in the right state of mind for noticing how sick you are, even if he does appear." Kavinsky laughs again, and points off to his left. "There he is now."

It takes Ronan a moment to notice he's not laughing. This time it is screaming, a screaming that melts away into a keening sound that cuts him right down to the bone. He has seen Adam beaten to the point of being almost unrecognizable. He has watched the boy cut his own soul from his body. And he has never heard him make a sound like the one he is now.

Ronan is running towards the sound before he even registers making the decision. He runs past Kavinsky and the other man lets him, although Ronan feels something bite deep into his side as he passes him. A blade is in Kavinsky's hand, dripping blood. Whether it was hidden or it didn't exist until Ronan began to run, he's not sure. It's not a deep enough wound to kill him, so he doesn't bother with it.

He sees Parrish after only a few more steps, and his head is starting to spin from the pain of the wound, which means he's probably going to have to wake up soon, but maybe he can make it to Parrish first.

He does, barely, vision already narrowing. Adam is tied to a chair, slumped over, but when he reaches out to untie him (or maybe to catch himself on the chair, he's not sure), Parrish jerks up again.

"Don't... touch it." His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are unfocused as he looks up at Ronan. It seems to take him a moment to recognize him, and when he does his mouth folds into a frown. "You shouldn't be here."

"Parrish," he greets him, like they're just friends who have happened to meet each other while walking, not two dreamers who are both bleeding out on sacred forest floor. "We're going to come get you. Hold on."

"No!" He's entirely more present now, or maybe he just seems that way because Ronan is less and less so. "You can't, you have to leave me."

"So sick of your self sacrificing bullshit," Ronan mutters. He should probably sit down.

"Ronan?" Adam's voice sounds strained, and his whole body is shaking. "Listen, you can't. You can't come get me, you have to keep me far away from Gansey, you have to-"

He is there and then he is not, pulled out of the dream as suddenly as he arrived. Ronan collapses on the ground, and he's ready to wake up now, thanks.

He can hear Kavinsky walking over towards him, and he imagines the grass around him like needles. He's not sure if he's too far gone to make it happen, or if Kavinsky just doesn't care about the pain, but he doesn't slow until he's standing above Ronan. In Ronan's fading eyesight, Kavinsky's form blurs, and it's too close to what he saw before he fell asleep, another skeleton standing above him.

Kavinsky lifts his foot and presses down on Ronan's side, right where his knife cut into him. Ronan bites his tongue hard enough to bleed, but does not make a sound. He won't give Kavinsky the satisfaction.

"Tell Dick I'm coming for his head," Kavinsky says, all steel and smiles. "And that he'll get to watch all of you die slow before it leaves his body. And then," he shifts, leaning into Ronan, and Ronan feels blood in his mouth and soaking his side. "I'm going to burn this whole forest down."

Ronan wakes up gasping, a hand going to his side to stop the blood he's sure will be there.

His hand meets bandages instead, and when he looks around, he realizes he's in a tent with white walls, meaning that he's in the med tent. Noah must have watched him, and gone for help when he saw the blood.

"You are an idiot," says Blue matter of factly, as she washes her hands in a basin off to the side.

Ronan doesn't dignify her with an answer. Instead, he opens his clenched fist, the one that isn't tracing the bandage, the one that reached for Parrish. In it is a battered little thing, a compass at first glance. But there is more than one hand, and instead of directions around the edge of it, there are letters.

He hasn't taken something out of a dream by accident for a long time. He has to believe this is something that will help. He has to.


	5. A Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see another side of the revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because what's a good rebellion without some lovely lady spies?  
> Also, first time writing either of these girls. Any concrit or suggestions is totally welcome.

Helen smooths her hands over her skirts, and wonders how long she can keep this up.

It's a useless thought, really. The answer is 'as long as she has to', of course. While her younger brother fights for the nation on the battlefield, Helen is waging her own war here, in the viper's nest that is the royal court. She is good at it, this courtesan dance. It doesn't stop the ache that sets in, halfway through a very long day.

Which is where her maid comes in. Or is supposed to come in. She only has another hour before she's supposed to be back out there, in a dress better suited for dancing all night. Because she is a Gansey, and must always be on the forefront of fashion and decency. She has to convince everyone, over and over again, that her brother is an outlier in their family. And somehow in all that she has to also make contact with two possible rebellion sympathizers that are only in the capital for this celebration. Her window is very small, and her maid being off somewhere is definitely making it smaller.

Helen sighs, and pushes herself to her feet. She'll just have to do the costume change herself.

She's managed to get herself into the dress, but between the corset and the skirts there is no way for her to do up the back by herself. She's just about to give up and go back to her dinner dress and the gossips be damned, when soft, strong hands brush her straining ones aside and beginning to deftly lace up the dress.

Helen pretends it's the dress tightening that makes her momentarily breathless, not the words Orla whispers against the back of her neck.

"Sorry. I got held up."

Really, there should be more of an apology there, but Helen has never heard an apology that actually meant anything come from Orla's lips, so she's not annoyed. Perhaps if Orla was actually a lady's maid, they would need to have a talk, but just like Helen has her own job here, her own role to play, so too does Orla. Helen was taken aback when Orla showed up, dressed in the livery of House Gansey, introducing herself as her old nursemaid's daughter.

"You probably don't recognize me, m'lady, but I've known you since we were both just babes."

Things started to make more sense when she led her new maid back to her chambers at the castle. She pulled a knife on the stranger once they were out of sight of prying eyes, and Orla didn't even blink, just smiled that smile of hers, the one that still makes Helen's cheeks redden, now eight months into their arrangement.

"I didn't even see you pull that," she said. "I'm almost impressed."

Helen had hesitated, much to her mortification now, when she replays the memory. Orla disarmed her with her casual attitude, so unlike every other servant Helen has ever had. Before Richard went and became a traitor to the nation, servants were polite but distant, cautious around the bold young lady of one of the oldest, most powerful Houses in the nation. Post Richard's betrayal, it's fear in their eyes, most often. No one wants to anger her, but no one wants to get too close, either. The court tiptoes around her, and the servants follow suit.

Scarier even than that were the servants who gave her a nod, one that had nothing to do with her standing at court (low, now, although no one will say that out loud) and all to do with the blood in her veins, the blood her brother is out to prove makes him the true heir to the throne. They would whisper 'my lady' with hope in their eyes, and Helen was so scared for every one of them. Most of those servants are now her eyes and ears in the castle, part of a network that she has worked on with her brother's spymaster, but back then she didn't know what to do, trapped in the role she was playing with no safe way to get in contact with the one who had put her there.

Orla changed all that. She gave Helen a letter in Richard's distinctive hand, watched Helen collapse in on herself in relief as she read it. It had been the first time she's heard from her brother in over a year. She had to hear about his betrayal from the Queen, trying to keep her emotions off her face so that she didn't get executed then and there. Before that, he had been off putting down a peasant uprising, and with the silence she had expected to hear that perhaps he had fallen. Not that he had joined them.

In that first letter, he apologized for leaving her at the castle, filled her in on what he and his ever growing group of followers have been up to, and asked her to be his eyes in the castle, all in a tone that was so clearly her brother's that she didn't even question the authenticity of the letter.

Orla watched her fall apart and put herself back together, all in silence. In fact, Helen doesn't think she's ever seen the girl be silent for that long since. She didn't say anything until Helen looked up at her, eyes still red from the few tears she had let herself shed, and admitted that she wasn't sure she could do this.

"Of course you can." If Orla had said it in any way that was supposed to be comforting, Helen wouldn't have believed her. But Orla said it like she was stating a fact, and that made it ring true.

"Richard didn't mention you," she said.

Orla grinned.

"I come from a higher power."

Helen looked at the terrifying woman in front of her and thought for the first time that her brother might have a chance.

 

* * *

 

Since Orla came, Helen has dug her nails into her standing here. She breakfasts with the Queen and dances until dawn and spends every waking moment playing the part of the perfect, loyal, harmless head of a family that is maybe past its prime. She talks loudly about how her steward makes all the decisions for the Gansey lands and holdings, spends enough on new dresses and jewellery that everyone assumes that's where all of her money is going (definitely no one suspects of it making its way in jewels and unmarked coin to her brother), and ignores anyone who mentions the rebellion in her presence. She is just a silly girl in the eyes of anyone suspicious, and she is surprised at first with how easily those who were eyeing her as a potential threat dismiss her.

"It's the problem with those who follow the new faith," Orla explained, as she twisted Helen's hair into some elaborate up-do. "They're so quick to forget that beauty has bite."

Orla spent the first few months here setting up their network of sympathizers and spies, teaching Helen as she went. Now that Helen is mostly handling that herself, Orla is working on strengthening their connections in the capital city, in the streets and the stables that surround the castle. She goes to the city looking for new ribbon for her shallow mistress, comes back with more names, more contacts, more rumours that she herself planted. Her most valuable aspect though, at least for Helen, is as someone she can trust completely. Surrounded by enemies as they are, Helen knows she would have crumbled without anyone to drop the facade around.

It is moments like this, Orla's hands in her hair, just the two of them, where Helen remembers who she actually is, under all the lies and layers. It's her favourite part of any day.

"Do you have anything important to share?"

Orla clicks her tongue against her teeth. "I thought you preferred no work talk before the drinks are served."

It's a joke, in a way. Although there will be plenty of drinks at the dance tonight, Helen will only pretend to indulge. There's too much at stake to risk intoxication. Orla might drink, once Helen is gone. She likes to drink with the other servants, and also claims that a touch of spirits can sharpen her Sight. Helen has not met enough with the Sight to know if that is true or another one of Orla's jokes. She does know that Orla can drink all night and not spill one secret she does not wish to, so she doesn't worry.

"But you were late," Helen reminds her. "Which made me curious."

"You're always curious," Orla accuses, but Helen can hear the teasing in her voice. "And I was scrying. Something felt out of balance, so I was trying to reach Blue."

Blue, another member of Orla's fabled Sisterhood. Blue is the one they sent to watch over her brother, just like Orla was sent to watch over and guide Helen. It's the Sisterhood's way of showing that they believe in the Sleeping King, and in Richard Gansey III's claim to the throne. Helen had always thought of the Sisterhood of the Fox as a fairy tale, until one walked into her life.

Watching Orla, she understands why people used to worship the Sisterhood. Every movement the woman makes exudes power and knowledge of something _more._ Helen doesn't know how Orla manages to do any work in the shadows, with how bright she is.

"What did Blue say?"

Orla pulls her hands away, and Helen feels the loss of them. The silence frightens her.

"Orla? Is something wrong?" She bites back the shake in her voice. "Is it my brother?"

"Your brother is fine." Orla goes back to working on her hair, and the fear in her stomach dissipates. "It's his court that is out of balance. His Magician has been... taken. Blue didn't have long to talk, she mentioned having to go patch up a certain dreamer." Orla steps back. "Your armour is all in place, my lady. I hope you have a wonderful night."

Helen turns to frown at Orla, who only calls her 'my lady' to annoy her, now. "That's all you're going to tell me?"

Orla shrugs. "That's all I know. Blue had to leave, remember? Anyway, that is their problem. That's why your brother has an army. We don't have an army, so you can't be late."

Helen makes a face, because the Queen hates tardiness, even though she herself is never on time. It's just another way for her to drive home that the rules only apply to her subjects. No one commands the Queen but herself.

"Thank you for your help. And for the update." Helen stands, lets Orla do one last walk around to make sure not a hair or thread is out of place, and then heads to her own battle.

 

* * *

 

The night is half-gone when a servant in white taps her elbow nervously.

"The Queen would like to see you, m'lady."

Helen follows the servant, mouth dry, to a small chamber off of the ballroom. Its only feature is one seat on a raised dais, and the Queen sits on it like a throne.

"Ah, Lady Helen of Gansey." She puts a weight on her House like it's a curse, but Helen pretends not to notice. She sinks into a deep curtsey, and waits for the Queen to ask her to approach.

Piper of Greenmantle has always known power. She was born a Laumonier, married the heir of House Greenmantle, and followed him to the throne of the nation, leaving death in her wake. There are as many rumours about the blood on her hands as there are stories about the dark deals her husband made to solidify his hold on the throne. She doesn't deny any of those rumours, although she does sentence any who dare ask about them to a traitor's death.

King Colin is known for doing terrible things for the sake of knowledge. His war against the old religion comes from a place of cold intellect. Queen Piper's hatred for the old religion is personal, and comes out of her in twisted and violent ways. She ruins lives easily, often for no more reason than because she wants to.

Helen does not hate anyone as much as she hates her Queen.

Piper lets her languish in her curtsey until her legs are screaming, and then acts as if she only just remembered Helen is in the room. She beckons her closer with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and Helen gets close, but not too close. Let Piper think it is fear that makes her keep her distance.

"Hello, dear."

Helen privately thinks Piper calls people pet names because she doesn't bother to learn anyone's real name. The pet names always sound false, falling from Piper's perfect lips.

"Your Majesty," Helen responds, with another little curtsey.

"It came to my attention that with no parents, you have no one to act in your best interest." Piper likes to start conversations in the middle, leave whoever she's talking to play catch up. Helen nods and keeps the confusion and apprehension off of her face.

"So I thought I would offer to do that for you. Be like a mother, in that way."

Even after years of marriage, the King has no heirs. Some say the King must be barren. Helen thinks that Piper just doesn't have a body made for growing things. The word 'mother' looks strange in her mouth.

"And what good timing too, because already tonight I have had someone come to me, asking after your hand."

That is enough to break the careful control Helen has created, a soft sound of surprise escaping her before she can help herself.

"I know, I had the same reaction. Who wants to marry the sister of a traitor?" Piper shrugs. "Whatever. There's no accounting for taste, I suppose. Especially in these newer noble families."

"Who..." Helen finds her footing again. "Who was asking after my hand?"

Piper waves her fan, like she couldn't care less about the details. "A knight. A younger son, but you really can't be picky, a girl in your position. I said you would consider him, but that you haven't had any other offers, so it looks good. You don't mind, I assume?"

Helen minds. Helen minds, very much. She has no intention of getting married any time soon. Not until her brother is on the throne. She doubts that she will escape the razing, if he fails.

"I... am honoured by your personal attention, Your Majesty." She schools her expression into one of shy embarrassment. "I will put some thought into his offer, and perhaps seek him out to discuss it with him tonight?"

"I told him you would." Piper stands, and her attendant, who had been waiting by the door, opens it again. It's a dismissal, and Helen doesn't even know the potential suitor's name. Still, she knows what is expected of her. She gives the Queen a final curtsey, and then makes her escape.

Try as she might, she can't quite get her mask on right after that. Every dance partner is eyed with suspicion. She doesn't trust any man asking for her hand, especially one who does it by going to the Queen. She's beautiful, yes, but to any outsider's eyes she's bad with money, the sister of a traitor, the last gasp of a dying House. For a younger son she has little to offer. Perhaps the House of Gansey, yes, his own lands, but no one wants to be associated with her so permanently, not while in the North Richard continues to gain followers and win battles. Perhaps it is the Queen's way of putting a tighter leash on her, although surely if she was to wed, she would return to her own lands, which she assumes the Queen would rather her not do.

The distraction has her begging exhaustion when she's next asked to dance, and she instead sits on one of the couches along a wall, trying to think of any way to turn down a suitor without upsetting the Queen. Nothing comes to mind. Maybe she's done enough here, maybe it's time to flee and join up with her brother. Except then she's just another thing for him to worry about. Here, she is making a difference. She will not run just because the Queen is threatening to wed her off.

Orla would laugh at her for being so easily thrown by the Queen's games.

No sooner has she thought of Orla when she hears a familiar laugh. It's coming from the balcony to her right, and she follows it to see Orla wearing one of Helen's own gowns, all done up like she's a lady herself, giggling over something the lordling she's talking to has said. They're inappropriately close, Helen can't help but think. It's indecent, how he's crowding her against the balcony like that, not quite touching but so very close.

She knows that Orla sometimes plays at being a lady, but has never seen her in action before. It makes Helen flush with anger, although she's not quite sure why. Maybe it's seeing Orla in her clothes. Clothes that were the height of modest court fashion on Helen are a little too small for the curves of Orla's body, making the neckline scandalously low. It seems like any sudden movement might cause the lacings to burst, and there's a hunger in the lordling's stance that makes it look like he would only help it on its way.

Helen should walk away. Orla is probably working, no matter how much fun she looks like she's having. And even if she is just having fun, out for a lark, why should Helen care? Orla isn't even some noble lady who needs to worry about saving herself for marriage, so what if she's flirting or doing more than flirting, Helen couldn't care less, and it's none of her business besides.

She steps out onto the balcony and clears her throat.

Orla sees her before her admirer does, and she smiles, a softer smile than the smirk she was aiming at the lordling. When he turns, quickly stepping away from Orla to a more appropriate distance, she schools her face into that smirk again, so quick that Helen thinks perhaps she imagined any softness.

"There you are! Helen, do you know Francis? This is Lady Helen of Gansey, Francis, I'm sure you've seen her around."

Francis's face pales at her name. Her smile is cold, and she looks him up and down with bored eyes, because she is tired of this game. She wants something real in her life, and Francis cannot be that.

"I'm sorry," she says, not a hint of apology in her voice. "I can't recall I've even heard of you."

Francis stammers a goodbye to Orla and walks very quickly past Helen's shoulder. This does not surprise her at all. People dance with her and chat with her inside the palace because the Queen gives them no reason not to. Out here, in the darkness with no one watching, there's no reason to play nice, and people seem to think that treason is contagious.

"I hope I didn't spoil your evening." Another untruth. They come so easily to her.

Orla laughs. "You never do, darling."

Unlike Piper's pet names, which are numerous and cold, Orla makes darling sound like something special, something intimate meant only for her. Helen's anger is fading, but the red sticks to her cheeks.

"Did he have anything interesting to say?"

Orla comes over and takes Helen's arm, like they're children playing at being presented at court. "Him? No. Men like him never do."

"Then why stop to talk at all?" Helen doesn't actually want to know the answer, but her traitor's tongue asks the question. Perhaps it is contagious.

"I was waiting for you, is all."

Orla leads them off the balcony and into the gardens, and they look like two young ladies gossiping. They look like equals, which sends a thrill through Helen's skin. So often outside of her chambers they cannot interact at all, or can only do so as master and servant, lady and maid. This feels dangerous, a different danger than their whispers and rumours. This feels exciting.

"Were you really waiting for me?"

Orla looks at her, brings one hand up to fix some hair that had fallen out of place. Helen shivers at her warm hands on this cold night.

"I always wait for you."

Helen wants to ask about that, because often when she returns home after these parties it's to an empty room, and Orla only appears in the morning, and Helen never asks where she's been because she doesn't want to know. She opens her mouth, but doesn't know how to phrase it so it doesn't sound chiding. She doesn't want to tell Orla off. She just wants to understand.

"I don't understand," she manages finally.

Orla leans forward and captures Helen's lips with her own. If she didn't still have Orla's arm intwined with her own, she might have stepped back, over-thought the moment until it was ruined. But with Orla keeping her close, she does nothing but lean into the kiss. This stolen moment in the palace gardens, this impossible thing Orla was giving her.

Tomorrow, they would wake up to urgent news from her brother's camp, dangerous rumours flying throughout the castle, and a personal invitation to dine with her mysterious suitor. Tomorrow, they would go back to planning to topple a King. But tonight, Helen lets Orla lead her back to her rooms, lets her strip off her armour, lets herself be real. Just for tonight.


End file.
